


Chemical Burns

by trueblackhand



Series: Catalyst [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha!Genji, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Cyberninja Hanzo Shimada, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Identity Porn, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sentai Genji Shimada, Talon Jesse McCree, Threesome, alpha!Jesse, omega!hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trueblackhand/pseuds/trueblackhand
Summary: Talon’s web weaves over Tokyo, spider-fine silk stretching across the cityscape and glistening beneath eerie blue streetlights. Under Agent McCree’s skin an itch brews—ink dark hair, pretty face creased in pleasure—Cyberninja. Seared into McCree’s mind,tauntinghim.He’s replayed the footage of that night over and over, catalogued every detail, from the bow of Cyberninja’s lips to the way his chest perks to hardness as he nears his end. Heat swells in McCree’s gut, fingers twitching to spill ash from the end of his cigarillo.Soon.He takes one last burning inhale before crushing the cherry with the heel of his boot.McCree would have him, one way or another.





	1. The Lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muja/gifts).



> Another thank you to [Muja](https://mujaween.tumblr.com) for the continuation of this series ♥
> 
> Also yes...... there are blue streetlights in Tokyo, about 150 of them. I checked this. 
> 
> This chapter is pure mchanz, the following two will be mchanji. I don't think it's necessary to read the first part of this series if you want to begin here but the fic as a whole will make more sense if you have. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Hanzo Shimada stays careful for exactly two point three weeks.

McCree would have to give him credit if the well-handled secrecy wasn't meaningless, Talon has him in their grasp and they’re not known for letting go. Armed guards, a dead lack of activity from his heroic counterpart—Cyberninja—but McCree still knows who Hanzo is, what he's doing and where. A glance down to the screen of his PADD displays Hanzo’s vitals, hormone levels, and location. All cataloged neatly and updated in real time.

He flicks the ash from the end of his cigarillo, smile crooking the edge of his lips. Hanzo had been unaware when they’d first met, caught off-guard and easily subdued, later to be locked in a heat McCree had helped orchestrate.  

All of it comes back to Catalyst.

Far more than the scant half-truths McCree had let slip to the pair of ninja—not a _drug_ but a finely tuned collection of nanites designed by Moira O'Deorain. Talon’s head tech and not the least of the women in McCree's life that scare him shitless. Her eyes were on the Shimada family long before this began; the clan embedded deep in the underworld of Japan, they’d been tightening trade routes, restricting Talon’s growth _._ An issue she’d been content to endure before rumours of Hanzo’s designation began making the rounds, then there was blood in the water.

After some digging Sombra uncovered more than anyone had bargained for; a rare male omega, hiding not only his designation but his ties with Overwatch.

It won’t be a gunfight, the kind of work McCree's _usually_ assigned, the yakuza demand a more strategic battle while Talon’s hands are tied. Reyes had put him forward, with Sombra as backup, unwilling to risk the damages the Shimada could cause if they kidnapped the heir apparent outright.

Lingering hints of honeysuckle catch at McCree's nose and the force of his anticipation swells and crests within him. Almost time. Another test, another fracture to break Hanzo in. Show him they could do whatever they wanted with him, and in return, give everything he could ever need. McCree can see it, see Hanzo under him in his mind's eye, pale thighs parted, inviting…

His PADD flashes, amber light notifying him of a change in location. He stubs his cigarillo and leaves it smoldering in the ashtray. Head to toe in slick black, a matching serape tossed over his shoulders, McCree leaves the mask until last, fitting it over his eyes before heading out into the shadows.

He could be anyone.

 

* * *

 

Talon never blessed him with stealth the way they had Reyes or Lacroix and that’s how McCree likes it. He prefers being both entirely corporeal and a regular human colour, thank you kindly. He doesn't need their _additions_ to slink into Tokyo’s great underbelly and pass through unseen. If everything goes well tonight Talon will have more plans for Hanzo, always better if someone took to their fold willingly. He’s seen the worst of what happens to those who refuse to yield.

McCree's stomach twinges uncomfortably at the thought of bringing Hanzo in for processing. He can't place why. It'd be no different, whether he struggled or not. Talon already has everything they need to run the Shimada name into the ground, to puppeteer from behind the scenes, there's just no sense in breaking anything that can be controlled.

It’s only business.

His daydreams run softer as he nears the Shimada run office block, knowing he'd rather have Hanzo with the light still in his amber brown eyes. Keep him spoiled and collared, needy and willing to lap sweetly at McCree's cock for any offered kindness.

Overhead the sky dulls into an umber dusk, McCree's shadow cast long and stretching over paved ground. The huge tower is full of offices, yakuza owned and operated; the safest place for Hanzo to be. McCree struts through the backdoor like he's got every right to be there, a small triangular device flashing purple where it's clipped at his hip. Nothing standard issue, a Sombra Special to keep him hidden from any tech. It's quiet but not deserted. The staff here are all late workers, try-hards or tired managers, infrequent and easy to avoid as McCree follows the flashing dot on his PADD and ascends the stairs.

Instinct guides him more than technology for the last stretch of distance. Honeysuckle on the tip of his tongue, so close he can feel hot skin under his fingers, imagine the texture of silken hair…

He sends a message to Dr. O'Deorain to initiate testing and pulls the door open wide.

A weary frown, long hair pulled back into an untidy bun, looking damn near pretty as a picture; Hanzo. Dishevelled from the day’s work, the fabric of his clothing lays loose around his collar. By the time he glances up to the snick of a lock sliding into place McCree's already behind him, metal fingers clamping around Hanzo’s throat, hand coming up to cover over mouth.

“Shh.”

Hanzo’s pulse jumps under his fingers, a harsh little noise of surprise, _of recognition,_ held back by McCree's palm.

“Oh, you remember me—just from my voice?” McCree huffs, heartbeat loud in his ears when Hanzo growls at him in acknowledgement. ”Well shit, sweetheart, I'm flattered.”

In a flurry of movement Hanzo tries to buck out from where McCree has him pinned against the chair, fast and calculated. Little yakuza prince, so much more than a pretty face. McCree wouldn't have it any other way. He catches Hanzo’s shoulders with the sharp points of his elbows, digging them into the tender part where chest and arm meet until Hanzo stills.

“So feisty,” McCree teases, tongue skirting the delicate shell of Hanzo’s ear and curling against the lobe. Hanzo goes tense, so motionless McCree knows it's setting in—the heat, the _need._ He attempts to speak, jaw shifting beneath McCree's hand. “What's that, darlin’, you got something to say?”

Already the harsh scent of Hanzo’s irritation clouds with something sweeter, McCree's fingers still pressed over his mouth, preventing him from speech. Slowly, inch by inch, he loosens them.

“You. Will. Release Me.”

Every word is punctuated by silence, Hanzo’s voice little more than a growl, convincing but the roughness is forced and beneath it is something trembling. McCree can feel it jump under his palm where it rests at Hanzo’s throat.

“I am the Shimada heir.” Hanzo’s English is lightly accented, shaped by the sounds of his native tongue. McCree knows how Hanzo speaks in that quick, flickering Japanese and it is not dissimilar. Hanzo’s words begin to stagger. “I am worth more than…” A huff, an exhale, “Whatever this is.”

McCree does laugh then, full bellied. “Oh but you ain’t, sweetheart.” He keeps his hold on Hanzo’s throat and pulls him upward, hauling him into the circle of his arms. “If only you knew how precious to us you really are.”

“Let me go!”

McCree’s barely holding him anymore, his grip loose and slipping to Hanzo’s strong jaw. “I’ll let you go,” those deep amber eyes begin to light, “If you give me a kiss.”

Any hope left on Hanzo’s face falls away.

“A kiss.” Dry and snappish.

Hanzo’s face struggles to stay stoic but the ripening scent around them gives him away. McCree’s fingers come to rest on the curve of his neck, stroking while that dark gaze affixes to the curve of his lips.

“Do you promise?” Hanzo asks.

McCree’s eyes follow the movement of Hanzo’s tongue, flicking out over his lower lip. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Do you?”

Without warning Hanzo is on him, filling him up with heat, his mouth molten and so deliciously willing it betrays him. Hanzo's fingers dig through McCree’s hair, scratching into his scalp as McCree’s tongue sweeps the hollow between his lips.

The first breath of him McCree takes burns his lungs like poppy-milk tobacco.

He unspools Hanzo’s silken hair from his bun and pulls away away to find glassy eyes and pink cheeks, leading down to slick-swollen lips, a few stray locks of hair caught in the mess. “Goddamn,” McCree whispers his excitement, cock jumping in the front of his pants. He thumbs at the corner of Hanzo’s mouth, red and parted, begging for McCree to rub the thick, spongy head of his cock over them.

Hanzo looks as though he can read McCree’s mind, blushing darker as he stands on the tips of his toes to reach McCree’s face. “A-Alpha,” broken into stuttered syllables, but Hanzo says it all the same.

“You still want me to let you go, little omega?”

Hanzo shakes his head, letting his weight rest on McCree more heavily as he’s drawn into strong arms. “Yes,” he says, as if it isn’t contrary, as if his lips don’t brush McCree’s while he speaks.

“Liar.”

Hanzo is slack against him, letting McCree press every inch of them together when he takes his lips once more.

“S-Stop,” Hanzo mumbles but without a reply McCree turns his face into his neck, inhaling where Hanzo's scent is strongest and pressing wet, messy kisses there. He doesn’t pause, and Hanzo doesn’t stop grabbing at him until McCree sits him down at the edge of the large table, pushing between thighs that fall open in his wake. His hand sneaks into Hanzo’s robes, cups at the apex of his thighs.

“Ah—ah!” For a moment Hanzo pants before scrabbling to grip at McCree’s wrists, blunt nailings digging into skin. “Don’t.”

“Now, what’s that quote again, sweetness?” McCree asks aloud, impatiently slipping a hand into Hanzo’s underwear. “The lady doth protest too much.” Slick greets the tips of McCree’s fingers and his nostrils flare, he doesn’t bother to do more than brush over Hanzo’s dainty cock, more interested in running them through the soaked folds of his slit.

Hanzo doesn’t relinquish the hold he has on McCree’s wrist, even as the first digit glides seamlessly into his cunt. A whine rings off Hanzo’s lips and McCree can’t hide his smirk.

“You really want me to stop, baby doll?” His growl demands answer but he cuts Hanzo off, “‘Cause this right here sure seems to like it.” McCree isn’t patient, isn’t gentle. He presses a second finger in with equally little warning, baring his teeth at Hanzo’s ragged cry.

“N-No.”

McCree huffs, “Then how come you ain’t callin’ for help?” That quiets Hanzo to small hiccupping breaths as McCree crooks his fingers and pulls the rest of Hanzo’s clothes away with his metal arm. “It’s alright, darlin’,” he takes Hanzo’s cheek in his cold palm when he’s left in nothing but the cloth hanging around his shoulders. “Let me take care of you,” Hanzo shivers around his fingers, “I can make it all go away.”

“Alpha,” Hanzo’s voice trembles, hands clinging to McCree’s broad shoulders. He smells like heat, everything soft and warm and good—spiced with the lightest hint of fear.

“There’s a good boy.” McCree can see the moment Hanzo melts, when there is no turning back.

_Mine._

McCree’s gut supplies the word, greedy for that omega soft skin and getting the cute pussy on his fingers wrapped around his cock. “Spread these for me, that's good baby doll,” he praises as Hanzo follows the instruction, opening his legs to show where McCree has him, flushed pink and pouting. McCree eases his digits free and watches the slick spill out; thick and viscous, smelling so sweet he wants to push his face there and spend the night tonging Hanzo open.

Hanzo doesn’t plead, too much in control even with his heat setting in fast, but the cute cock between his thighs twitches, the line of his pale chest dusted pink, pouty nipples just about _begging_ for McCree’s teeth. The need visible, no matter how Hanzo tries to hide.

“Hell if you ain’t the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

He kneels in the space between Hanzo’s thighs, placing a reverent kiss to the soft skin there and dragging the tip of one metallic finger over Hanzo’s meager length. He can’t seem to keep still, fidgeting as McCree plays with his cock and breathes hot air over his sopping core.

“Alpha, ngh—” Hanzo’s low, wounded cry of pleasure fills the room, McCree’s tongue working a path over him, sliding into the hot confines of his cunt with slippery ease. Hanzo’s grip moves to his head, tugging desperately at McCree’s tousled hair.

A bang, the office door slamming into concrete wall, bringing discord to their private, heated moment.

It has McCree jolting around only for his vision to swirl as an unexpected hand grabs at his throat and throws him bodily away from Hanzo, pain lancing hot up the back of his spine.

Too strong to be anything but another alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for everyone's favourite power ranger to show up? ;3
> 
>  **And now an actual authors note:** I debated what to call ye olde futuristic supercomputers. I've seen 'datapad' thrown around but that is, in fact, _Star Wars_ and in this house we're trekkies. PADD is it. 
> 
> [trueblackhand](https://trueblackhand.tumblr.com)|tumblr ♥


	2. Edge

McCree’s back hits the wall with a resounding _thump,_ air knocked from his lungs, head swimming, the taste of Hanzo still on his lips.

“You,” a metallic voice snarls.

He could place it anywhere.

“Sentaiman,” McCree greets, spitting the blood welling in his mouth onto the office floor. Quiet anger shakes him, primal and instinctive, a violent force he has to quell down lest it turn his world raw and red. It doesn't make _sense_ for Sentai to be here, interrupting him. Outside of  Overwatch their agents live separate lives—as it had been since the PETRAS act.

The strangeness of it settles over him, numbing even as that obnoxious green suit swims back into vision.

A hand wraps around McCree's throat and shoves, squeezing hard and pinning him with his back to the wall. He does snarl then, growl rolling through him as he’s restrained, a knife point digging into his stomach. His fingers flex, the smallest motion and Sentaiman is tense against him, ready to punish even a hint of bad behaviour.

“How dare you put your hands on him, you fucking—” Sentai cuts off into a string of Japanese that McCree can't understand, the words scaldingly angry, Sentai’s gloved fingers squeezing harder until they cut off his breath.

Hanzo watches them, dazed and slumped on the meeting table, a frown creased over his brows. The look settles too lucid on his face, at odds with the fast rise and fall of his chest and his ruffled clothes.

“Did you think a little misdirection would stop me?” Sentai’s voice brims with violence, the promise of a threat laying poised beneath his words. “That I would _ever_ let you lay a hand on him again?”

McCree’s stomach sinks into the floor. Sombra’s hacking is infallible, all the machines that he's crossed today tapped to cover his movements, there must be something else. Another way for Sentaiman to have found him.

He swallows and says nothing.

The visor hides his expression, but McCree can scent the fury radiating off Sentai. Acrid and alpha and he’d caught McCree _playing with his things._

He’s out of ideas, needing a distraction, something quick to help him get away as his body seizes and glove covered hands bruise his windpipe.

He’s seen how devastating the pair of them can be.

McCree’s fingers peel away from _Peacekeeper’s_ holster and reach up—not to the hands on his throat, even if his lungs burn with the need to breathe—they clamp down either side of Sentaiman’s helmet and _pull._

What’s revealed is young and handsome, messy dyed green hair and a face that seems oddly familiar.

“Genji?”

It’s Hanzo that breaks the silence, shatters it, the weight of the name heavy with some meaning McCree cannot place.

Genji.

He knows it; _Genji Shimada—_ the second son. Somewhat of a local celebrity, he’d been impossible to miss while scouting information on Hanzo. There were dozens of stories for every murmuring of the oyabun or his heir, the fanciful antics of the rich and famous. McCree narrows his eyes. No wonder Sentaiman had gone the extra mile to hide his face.

A spoiled Yakuza prince, playing hero.

And McCree had coerced him into fucking his own brother.

 _This is above my goddamn paygrade,_ McCree scowls.

He never meant for this, _Talon_ never meant for this. Sentaiman’s identity had never been priority, wasn’t even an interest. They’d hadn’t considered the playboy brother… Unwanted heat unfurls in McCree’s gut, burning like a hot coal, stinging and consuming. Genji would have had to have known, would have recognised Hanzo, surely.

He’d _known_ and still he’d held Hanzo ferociously close after letting him bounce on his cock, and soothe away the worst of his heat.

McCree is hyper-aware of the absolute lack of noise, nothing but harsh breathing and the sound of air moving as Genji glances between them.

The hands at his throat fall, Genji turning toward Hanzo when he sees the pained expression on his face. Pheromones lace the air, and McCree knows Genji must feel it too, those darker urges brought forth by sweet omega slick. Does he want a round two—another excuse to bury himself in Hanzo’s cunt and fuck him knotted?

McCree watches, he waits.

Genji moves like he’s about to step away but he pivots on his heel at the last moment to slam his fist into McCree’s face. The blow has his cheek and brow screaming agony, pain scalding bright until he simmers it down into a minor annoyance.

Suppose he _had_ just had his fingers in the guy's brother.

“Anija…” Panic etches itself onto Genji’s expression clear as day, conflict warring as he deliberates how to explain.

“You,” Hanzo’s voice is far away, his thighs squeezing together as if remembering. “It was you.”

There’s a flurry of conversation, Japanese too fast for McCree to understand even if he’s transfixed trying to guess the meaning from the hundred words he knows.

 _“Why didn’t you say something?”_ Hanzo’s voice is sharp, the guilt on Genji’s face deepening at the tone. _“You knew it was me but still you allowed me t-to shame myself,_ debase _myself—”_

 _“Hanzo,”_ Genji snaps, and McCree looks on as Hanzo tries to cover himself only to have one of Genji’s palms close around his wrist. “ _You were going to die.”_

 _“So you fucked me?”_ Hanzo demands as Genji paces beside him, running his fingers through his hair and stopping dead in his tracks to turn toward Hanzo.

 _“Yes,”_ he says, _“I fucked you. I would do anything for you, big brother, anything.”_ Those deep brown eyes go wide as Genji’s fingers cradle against Hanzo’s cheek. _“I’m sorry, Hanzo.”_

The quiet that falls over the room is supernatural, Hanzo’s hands gripping at Genji’s suit to pull him closer. “Genji…”

And goddamn, no part of McCree is prepared for this. He’d come expecting an easy mission, Hanzo under him, safe in his protections, not brothers. Not brothers kissing, unannounced and impulsive; Hanzo pulling him in and Genji feeding hungrily at his mouth, one hand precariously high on Hanzo’s damp inner thigh.

_“Please, big brother. Let me take care of you again.”_

It’s breathtaking how they clash together, fighting only to fall limp, the tension ebbing out of Hanzo the longer Genji licks at his lips. McCree’s cock throbs, hard and hopeful, straining against the front of his pants. Maybe it’s best he leave, take Talon’s plan and try to find another way to bring Hanzo in—or at least get him close enough. He’s too important, though none of it matters when Hanzo is squirming on the edge of a table with his fingers clutching needy at Genji’s hair.

A part of McCree wants to wait it out, entranced by the way they move, but he needs to leave. Soon, he needs to leave _soon._ He scrambles to his knees, biting his tongue against a groan of pain as the motion jars the ache in his shoulder.

Genji’s eyes snap to him at the disturbance, the look on his face pleased, like he’s won some battle McCree was too dazed to even fight. As he steps closer, Genji draws a short blade, the same one that had nestled against McCree’s ribs earlier, turning it over in his hands.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

His alpha instincts flicker in agitation, McCree gritting his teeth to hold back a growl. One moment of chaos and suddenly Genji thinks he could win, no questions asked. What’s worse—McCree’s stomach twists—is that it might be true. He inhales softer, eyes seeking Genji out. There’s no compassion in those dark depths, only Yakuza cold, willing to do anything when it comes to his secret. His Hanzo.

“You don’t wanna be doing that, pardner. I wasn’t kiddin’ when I told you there’s a helluva lot worse out there than me,” McCree says quickly. It’s the truth too, Akande—endlessly rich and powerful Akande—would have broken Hanzo in. He'd have tamed the stubborn, quiet omega, bred him full of pups and kept him like a trophy wife, no need for any sweet talk or tender touches.

Hanzo would be a husk.

“I don’t believe you,” Genji hisses back, bristling when McCree lays his fingers over Genji’s on the blade. The plastic of his suit unnatural even if beneath it Genji is nothing more than flesh.

“Then maybe you can keep the fella who finally got you an’ your brother together alive. Always a nice thank you.” McCree’s tone is light, charming to cover the way his fingers want to shake. More impulse decisions, made in the split second where Genji looks as though he’s about to shove the pointed tip into his belly.

Tension coils up within him, prickling uncomfortably in the space between McCree’s ribs. His left hand shoves the blade away, the full force of his metal prosthetic more than enough to jar and break Genji’s hold. Blood and sex and anger cloud the air, his mind, McCree does the unthinkable.

He grabs Genji by the collar and kisses him.

Some animal instinct, locked up and kept hidden, demands he do it. The gesture supplicant, and though he moves fast it is not aggressive; it’s pleading. A bargain to turn the fear and anger so palpable and heavy in the room into something less destructive.

Indecision wears on McCree the longer Genji stays frozen against him, lingering and lingering, until the moment breaks. Then everything is fever-hot and sharp. Genji _merciless_ with his teeth, sinking his dominance into McCree with harsh nicks and bites that leave him reeling. It’s hard to even call it a kiss, Genji handles him so roughly, like every touch is deliberate to punish McCree for his transgressions.

He can’t even lie and claim that Genji’s forceful hand shoving his head back into the wall doesn’t make his cock flex its interest. He grunts in surprise when a hand burrows into his pants, Genji’s fingers clamping around his balls through the thin material of his boxers.

A soft cry breaks the silence, pitched and breathy. McCree and Genji both snap in the direction to find Hanzo watching them with flushed cheeks, one hand between his thighs.

There’s nothing left of the cool, reserved heir anymore, Hanzo is a puddle of his own slick and need, calling out to them in pleading tones. As if either alpha could resist his demands when they’re both encased so intensely in his scent little else matters.

Genji’s fingers don’t move, cinching around some rather delicate parts hard enough to have McCree hissing as he turns back to face him. “I should just cut these off,” he says with another squeeze, and McCree’s cock jumps, heat jolting through him in some embarrassing combination of fear and want. Genji laughs, a wicked look on his face that has heat bubbling in McCree’s gut. “Interesting.” His grin turns lopsided and he lets McCree go, the action abrupt, Genji more interested in finding his way back to Hanzo and touching lightly at his brother’s knee.

“Genji…” Hanzo murmurs again reaching out with trembling fingers.

“I’m going to take care of you, anija.” There’s something nervous and excited in Genji’s words, almost out of earshot as he nuzzles and bites at Hanzo’s neck—his eyes flashing up to meet McCree. “It’ll be okay.”  

The gaze cuts through him like a hot knife, a hand running down the back of his spine. Predatory. McCree’s cock is achingly hard, neglected and interested. He’s tired of the nagging pressure, the undeniable urge riding under his skin, whispering in dulcet tones what pleasure he might have if only he _took._

It’s the pheromones, the taste of blood and slick Genji had licked from his mouth.

Only a madman would deny how gorgeous the pair of them are. A matching set. They move with synchronicity, though this kind of touch between them is clearly unfamiliar. Hanzo’s gentle cries mount higher as Genji’s fingers slip through where he’s already wet and wanting, gathering Hanzo’s slick and McCree can smell the cloying sweetness of it. They’re no more than a few meters away, close enough McCree can see the dampness beading on Hanzo’s skin as he trembles.

Genji’s still looking at him when he speaks again. Japanese but McCree knows the tone; low and full of heat. Hanzo’s eyes squeeze shut, murmuring something in reply that has Genji chuckling and kissing the side of his throat.

_“I want him too…”_

“Is that so, anija?” Genji murmurs, English, for his benefit, two pairs of eyes watching him as Genji speaks. McCree’s brows draw closer together, there’s too much implication he can’t make out, both of them keeping him in the dark about his fate.

He can’t leave now, he doesn’t even _want_ to.

 _“What—”_ Hanzo bites out as Genji’s fingers glide over his slit, trailing lower to massage gentle circles over the tight hole further between the willing part of his thighs. It’s obscene; Hanzo writhing, breath catching, unsure if he should press into the probing contact or demand it elsewhere. His head falls back onto Genji’s shoulder with a sob.

“Shh, shh. You wanted him too, right?” Genji sucks a dark, reddish bruise into Hanzo’s neck. “Where else would I go…”  

It’s all in startling focus. Anything outside of this room, the rest of it, Talon, his missions, they're nothing but a dull fog someplace far away. The dim overhead lights catch on Hanzo’s glossy skin, the scent of him so potent it’s almost dreamlike.

In that moment he could go anywhere, be anyone. Follow these star crossed brothers to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took to be in their arms…

“Talon.” Not a name, they don’t know it, but an address oddly intimate on Genji’s tongue. “Aren’t you coming?”

McCree’s stomach lurches, standing straighter and flushing at Genji’s bell chime laugh. They’re a force, even off the battlefield. McCree can see that now as Hanzo casts him a sultry look, flinching into shocked pleasure as Genji eases another finger into his ass.

“Weren’t you about to cut my balls off two second ago?” McCree mutters, halfway to them already, hand brushing over Hanzo’s chest.

Genji gives him a look he can’t quite decipher.

“I still might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm behind on answering comments! I'm in the middle of moving/decorating at the minute so things are a little hectic, I love and appreciate you ALL ♥♥ I left on a bit of a cliff hanger but in return the next update will be in the next few days. Stay tuned c; 
> 
> [trueblackhand](https://trueblackhand.tumblr.com)|tumblr ♥


	3. End Game

Genji’s palm curves over Hanzo’s jaw, turning him so he can lick into his brother’s mouth. Openly, brazenly. The steady thrust of his wrist, the soft _shuck_ of wet flesh. All of it too loud and intimate.

McCree feels like an intrusion, or he would if not for Genji’s half lidded eyes watching. 

_Peacekeeper_ rests heavy at his hip, a reminder of how quick this could be should the worst come. It’s pushed away the same as his pants, his underwear, when Hanzo’s clever fingers seek to curl around his cock. 

McCree sucks in a breath through his teeth at the first hint of friction since he entered the room.

“Is he big, anija?” 

Hanzo squeezes at McCree’s length as if on command, fingers delicately investigating the crown. “Yes…” he breathes, tipping his head back when Genji does something wicked with the fingers pressed deep inside him.

McCree doesn’t leave the fire bright spark of heat unanswered, taking Hanzo’s hip in hand and reaching the other hand between his thighs. His fingers trail through folds even hotter and slicker than before. 

Hanzo bucks into it with faint, aborted movements of his hips. The pair of them look goddamn-near good enough to eat. Genji makes him curious; over Hanzo’s shoulder he shoves his suit out of the way, his cock springing up, flushed deep red at the tip.

Sympathetic need rolls through McCree, twitching where Hanzo’s palm grips him tight. 

“Hurry,” Hanzo’s voice comes hot against his ear, all the protest of earlier siphoned out of him. 

At least, if nothing else, the nanites are working. Hanzo’s soft under McCree’s fingertips, responsive to every touch, giving a wrecked little cry when Genji finally begins to push inside with a hushed whisper of: “Relax, anija.” 

Slick bubbles beneath McCree’s fingers, spilling out in a rush as Hanzo keens and tries to stroke him faster. “Fuck, sweetheart,” McCree curses, running the thick pad of his thumb over Hanzo’s slit, eyes drawn to where Genji’s cock eases its way into Hanzo’s quivering body. He can see everything; the knot flaring at the base, Hanzo's hole pink and quivering as he tries to take it all in.

“You like watching me fuck my brother, Talon?” 

Not even by name but Genji’s question makes McCree’s cheeks heat, reaction made worse by Genji’s pleased half-smile.

“You must, this is the second time now.” Genji keeps the words flowing, baring his teeth at McCree as he begins to thrust, Hanzo whimpering quietly in his arms. “You’re just as fucked as we are, huh, cowboy?” 

McCree isn’t questioned further when he dips his head away from an answer, Genji just chuckles—Hanzo whining at him when he stops moving his fingers quickly enough. “That’s pretty fucked,” he murmurs, toying with the silky lips of Hanzo’s slit as Genji opens him up.

“Stop talking.” 

They both glance down to Hanzo, frowning at them with his cute, flushed face. Hanzo’s arm loops around Genji’s shoulders securing himself and rolling his hips back onto Genji’s cock. Though his voice is steady Hanzo’s pupils are blown wide. 

“Need it, dontcha?” McCree nibbles at the curve of Hanzo’s ear, the scent of him blooming sweeter for it, Hanzo murmurs his agreements as McCree teasingly dips his fingers into his cunt. “I’ll fuck you better than your baby brother ever could,” McCree whispers to the sound of Genji’s derisive snort. 

_“Hurry,”_ Hanzo gasps for a second time, offering himself up, trying to present his cute, needy slit even with Genji spearing him wide already. They have to hold Hanzo up, practically sandwich him between their bodies, Hanzo clutching at McCree’s shoulders as he finally begins to breach that hot, tight space. 

Hanzo yelps as McCree’s cock sinks ever deeper. He’s thick and long, taking his time to stretch Hanzo out on his girth. It’s so tight it’s almost painful, Hanzo flush and squeezing at his cock, sharp little nails biting into his arms. McCree can feel Genji too, pressed in alongside him—only a thin wall of tissue between them. Hanzo’s all the tighter for it, barely enough room inside for him to fit two alpha cocks. 

“Ha—”  Open mouthed, Hanzo pants by McCree’s ear, clenching down. “S-So full…” 

“You wanted this,” Genji reminds, rolling his hips in a steady, seamless motion, his lips dragging against the back of Hanzo’s neck. He changes the angle until Hanzo goes still then sobs—spasming around them. “You wanted him in you.” 

McCree bucks up as Genji says it and Hanzo’s voice cracks when he tries to reply. 

“Genji—ngh.”

McCree’s answering chuckle is low and rich, the only sound beside the friction of skin on skin. “How does it feel, honeybee?” Curling his metal arm around Genji’s shoulder, McCree tangles his fist in Hanzo’s hair, grinding his cock in to the hilt. His other hand skims down the line of Hanzo’s body, pausing to tweak at the soft bud of a nipple before sinking lower, gripping at Hanzo's cock. “This lil’ thing seems pretty pleased.” 

Genji curses against Hanzo’s back as the omega whines loud, the heat around them pulsating—igniting a pleasure that could melt McCree’s bones. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he commands, the mildest touch of alpha command carried in his words. 

Hanzo squirms, eyes opening to watch McCree as he replies. “I-It, ah, it feels good.” Red and purple marks line the sides of his throat, Genji’s possession bruised into his skin. His hair is caught in McCree’s grasp, some of the dark spun silk spilling out around his face, stuck to his damp, swollen lips. And he is absolutely, gut wrenchingly, beautiful. 

Genji fucks into Hanzo faster, sweat pricking at the edge of his hairline. “Fuck, anija, are you ready?” he trails into a string of strained Japanese that McCree would bet good money is filthy, judging by how Hanzo shivers and squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

Holding one of Hanzo’s thighs up, Genji shoves his cock deeper, huffing pleased at the cry it earns him. Hanzo’s whole body trembles, only their hands on him keeping him upright. The table cuts into the back of McCree’s legs and it’s that strike of pain amidst heat filled lust that locks McCree steady, letting Genji’s thrusts rock through him while Hanzo clenches down. 

“Alpha, alpha, ah, pl-please.” 

McCree’s gear sticks to his skin, the fabric soaked through with sweat, how Genji hasn’t stripped any further than his helmet is a testament to the sheer force of _want_ emanating from Hanzo. His eyes meet with Genji’s; wild and gold. 

They know what he needs. 

Genji’s hands wrap around Hanzo’s middle, splaying over his stomach. “Anija.” A whisper of confession, Genji murmuring for his brother as his harsh movements come to halt. Hanzo twists and turns between them, sobbing out as Genji swells. 

McCree can feel it happening; Hanzo stretching and tightening. He grunts low in his throat, some tension snapping within. He doesn’t have time to warn them, it happens too fast. McCree’s knot swells, thick as a fist and he knows Hanzo feels it with how he whines and shoves his face harder against his neck, as though McCree’s skin could hide the way he trembles. Hanzo’s cries are all but animal, chopped little sounds that have McCree’s cock twitching and beg him only to wreck Hanzo further. 

“Ha—please, alpha. Alphas.” 

Instinct surges in McCree’s hindbrain, helpless to do anything other than follow that desperately omegan plea. The heat in his stomach becomes paramount, flooding him as he grinds up into that impossible heat, Hanzo a siren song ringing in his ears. 

McCree’s vision whites out, Hanzo’s silken insides squeezing at his knot, forcing a curse from his lips as his cock pulses. He digs his teeth into the delicate line of a pale shoulder as he comes, filling Hanzo with thick ropes of seed, his girthy knot tying them together. 

His lips graze Hanzo’s ear, teeth nicking at the lobe. “Omega,” he whispers as if it’s the highest praise or dearest sentiment, not something he hasn’t remotely earned. 

That’s all it takes for Hanzo to shatter, the three of them groaning in tandem as Hanzo spasms and spurts over McCree’s fingers with a hiccuping sob. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he curses, the tightness in his gut lessening as the play of Hanzo’s clenching insides draw from him an aftershock, liquid pleasure spilling out over his skin—leaving him dizzy and breathless, pressing kisses against Hanzo’s shoulders. “God you’re so good.” 

Hanzo makes a soft noise, somewhere between pleasure and protest. McCree huffs a laugh in reply, the smile not fading even when he catches Genji’s honeyed eyes staring at him without so much as a blink. He can’t gauge the younger Shimada, not through the haze of sex. 

The look he gives McCree is contemplative, some dark desire hidden below, then his lips twitch up and he turns Hanzo’s head toward him. Genji’s eyes linger on his, slipping shut only when Hanzo whines and seals their mouths together. There’s a deliberate sensuality about it, Genji’s tongue twining against Hanzo’s in the open air, nipping with his teeth and making Hanzo gasp. 

He’s smirking and satisfied as he pulls away, giving McCree a glance that says he knows the desire and irritation war in McCree blood. He’s given no time to recover before Genji’s hand pull roughly at his hair and drags him into a harsher kiss.

Genji’s mouth leaves him breathless and bitten, blood trickling from the corner of his lips when they pull apart. It’s a peace offering and a warning rolled into one, a reminder that as sweet as Hanzo is—still wrapped around his knot—that he is the intruder. The one out of place. Yet he’s too languorous to feel threatened. His awareness of it drowned out by Hanzo’s skittering fingers playing with the patch of hair on his chest, sending rippling waves of sensation through him even as his knot begins to deflate. 

A soft kiss is pressed against his neck, Hanzo clinging to him a little longer, an unreadable look in his dark eyes as he slides his hands through McCree’s unruly hair, pulling him closer. 

Tension jolts McCree’s spine, Hanzo’s mouth—hot and sweet—tenderly moves against him. His heart soars for it. Needy hands scrambling to hold Hanzo’s jaw and kiss him deeper. He shuts his eyes tight and loses himself to it one last time.     

“You should leave.” 

McCree knows it too. 

A life for a life, he’d spared them once, after this there would be no more favours from the dragons. Except that Hanzo’s voice is whisper soft and Genji’s gaze on him is steady—curious even.

McCree’s tongue hangs heavy in his mouth; he doesn’t want to go. 

Not back to Talon’s cold, clinical care, fractured memories. _The touch hunger._ The feel of it slams into his chest, uniquely, painfully, sobering. 

He disentangles their limbs, subdued. It’s not the first time and McCree’s always been good at disappearing when he’s not wanted, though he can’t help but imagine the what if’s. His fingers reach under his hair to the thick scar that runs over the top of his spine; Talon’s tracker, implanted long before they’d had access to nanotechnology. 

_Old._

Maybe he could—no. McCree busies himself pulling up his pants and readjusting peacekeeper in his holster. There’s quiet, pervasive as McCree steps away from the two brothers and toward the door.

“What will you do now, Talon?” Genji calls. 

McCree’s fingers tighten on the handle.

“Call me Jesse,” he says and drifts off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes this instalment of Catalyst! I hope you all had fun on the ride. 
> 
> Leave a kudos if you liked, a comment if you _extra super liked,_ it lets me know there are people reading and want to see more c: 
> 
> And as always you can find me @ [trueblackhand](https://trueblackhand.tumblr.com)|tumblr ♥


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